


Issues Unexpected

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-15
Updated: 2006-08-15
Packaged: 2018-09-06 09:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8744719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Sam gets an unexpected visit from a drunken!Dean that makes for an interesting evening in more ways than one.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Title: Issues Unexpected  
Author: Pet [[](http://crazyjoyfulgirl.livejournal.com/profile)[ **crazyjoyfulgirl**](http://crazyjoyfulgirl.livejournal.com/)]  
Characters: Sam/Dean  
Rating: NC-17  
Category: Wincest, slash  
Spoilers/Warnings: pre-Pilot; incest, naughty words, desk!abuse, etc, etc...  
Disclaimer: If I owned them I wouldn't be here writing about them. I'd be doing them or watching them do each other. I have _no_ shame.  
Summary: Sam gets an unexpected visit from a drunken!Dean that makes for an interesting evening in more ways than one.  
Notes: A big thank you and snuggly, cuddly glomps to [ ](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/profile)[**keepaofthecheez**](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/) and [ ](http://madders.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://madders.livejournal.com/)**madders** who both took time out of their busy lives to beta this for me. It was not an easy task yo‘. Tenses are mean to me and I flip them off. So I love you two and thank you. This fic is dedicated to the two of you. *kissles*  
  
"Aw, dude please tell me you didn't!" Sam complains as he tries to stay rooted to the spot he is in and not bolt for Mexico or maybe Alaska. Dean hates being fucking cold.  
  
"What was I supposed to do man? He's drunk off his ass and telling me he's your brother. Then he whipped out his wallet to prove it with pictures. And Sam, man is it healthy he has so damn many of them..."  
  
Sam waves him off and just sighs. "Go to your party Shane, I got him I'll deal with him."  
  
"Alrighty, see ya later. Sorry dude, I didn't know it was a bad."  
  
"No, you wouldn't, would you?" Sam mutters to himself as he turns the knob and stepps into darkness. He goes to flick on the light and a deep, slurred voice from the direction of his bed stops him.  
  
"Don't. Turned it off for a reason. Shut the door."  
  
And Sam obeys. What else is he going to do? He opens his mouth to say something, anything.   
  
'Need to get out, Dean.'  
  
'You shouldn't be here.'  
  
'I don't know what you’re thinking but it's not going to...'  
  
But then he is grabbed by the front of his jacket and pulled tight against a body that shouldn't be this rock solid in the current state it is in.  
  
"Stop thinking. No thinking. Because I don't care what angst ridden, emo, whiney bullshit you’re even going to try to spin. It's going to end the same way no matter what."  
  
And Sam…well, he just can’t keep himself from asking. "What way is that, Dean?"  
  
Dean's mouth skids up his neck, then his jaw, and finally lands on his ear. His breath is hot and Sam nearly chokes on the stench of alcohol he can taste on Dean's exhales.  
  
"You really wanna know?"  
  
Sam can’t stop the eye roll; it is like a Pavlov’s dog response to Dean's idiotic questions.   
  
'Why don't you want to do this? What's so wrong with hunting?'  
  
'So if I like your ass does that make me gay?'  
  
'Fuck Sammy why do you have to hit me so hard?'  
  
"Yes, I really want to know."  
  
The fingers on his jacket tighten, dragging him closer still, and then the jacket is being pulled up and off and Sam jerks, letting the panic of realization set in. He knows why Dean is here. Dean knows he knows why he is here. Only problem is when he tries to pull away, stop it before it gets out of control. Before it rages into something neither of them have a stop button for.  
  
Dean digs his fingernails into Sam’s biceps, and he was hissing and freezing, letting Dean drag his teeth along his ear lobe.  
  
"Told you Sammy boy, it's all going to end the same way. Don't make a fuss, nobody wants the guilt dude."  
  
And again Sam stands still and waits. "Fine, just tell me then."  
  
The broken laugh that escapes Dean's lips is a little unexpected, but the fingernail grooves Dean is embedding into his arms aren’t commonplace either. But as quick as the laugh comes, it is gone again; replaced by a sound Sam is much more familiar with. So is the hard cock that is now sliding firm and slow against his thigh.  
  
"I'm going to push my cock into you."  
  
As explanations went, this one is a doozy. He hopes the sound that escapes his throat - and the jerk of his body - isn’t going to count against him at the final tallying of scores in the Winchester Family Mind Fuck Game. But Dean is totally unaffected. As smooth and hard as stone. Just holding onto him like his very being depends and thrives upon it.   
  
The scary thing is, to Dean, it is probably so goddamn true. How fucking scary is that? But Sam knows Dean isn’t nearly done talking yet. He might not be for hours to come. Tonight Dean Winchester plans to talk and talk and talk and talk until his voice is raw and broken. Sam’s ears will be ringing before it is all said and done.  
  
"I'm going to push my cock in you little bro'. I'm going to shove my dick right inside you and I'm going to fuck your brains right outta your skull. Shit like college, normal, girlfriends, lawyer, Stanford aren't even going to exist inside of your head. All you’re gonna know…all you’re gonna want is me and my dick. You'll be begging by the time I'm through with you."  
  
"Dean, I'm not going to...we _aren't_ going to do this. I thought we, I thought it was..."  
  
Dean starts to shake his head, the movement causing his hair to glide along Sam's face, and then he is finally letting Sam's biceps go to grip his shirt and tug him down enough so that they are eye to eye. Nothing quite pissed off Dean more in their life than when he lost the height war, except maybe when he lost the Sammy stays home forever and ever war. So the hostility he sees in Dean's eyes? Sam just chalks it up to that.  
  
" _Don't_ , don't you fucking _dare_. You can be so goddamn selfish sometimes, you know that? So god _damn_ spoiled. All your damn life. You think you had it so bad. You don't know _anything_. I gave you everything, sacrificed all the time for you Sammy. And I'm tired, I'm lonely, and I'm fucking horny, and you are going to let me fuck _you_. End of story. Take off your clothes."  
  
Sam blinks, and in less than second a pit in his stomach equivalent to the Grand Canyon solidifies in his gut. But what he just thought; the sheer idea of what could happen in his dorm room right now; was beyond fucking stupid. It was impossible. Dean would never, _ever_ hurt him. Let alone rape him. Dean would cut his own dick off first and eat it before he ever hurt him like that. Sam knows it and could bet his life on it. Sam would do it right now too, even with all that was happening in this room.  
  
So, to take this seriously? What was happening even after the second of doubt has Sam snorting and walking over to his desk to grab a tissue for the blood that was running down from the fingernail cuts in his arms.   
  
The hand that tightens around his belt from the back and whips him around, sending the tissue box flying to god knows where has Sam stuck in a sort of limbo as he stares at Dean in a mixture of morbid curiosity, a tiny bit of fear and wonder. "Christo."  
  
"Oh, fuck _you_ dude! Seriously, I hope you go to hell. And I swear you make one lame ass joke about how we’re both going there anyway and I _will_ kill you my damn self, got me?"  
  
Sam nods mutely and just watches as Dean, now shirtless, pants halfway undone and feet bare, runs a hand through his hair. Sam watches the fingers pull and tug on the short strands and waits to see strands fall to the floor in the wake of Dean's anger and frustration. This is more than just anger; this is more than just being mad at your younger brother for leaving you and your Dad. This is more than being a little too drunk.  
  
"You haven't had sex with anyone in a while, have you?"  
  
The look Dean flashes him says more than any answer ever could have.  
  
"What? You took a vow of celibacy with anyone except direct relations or something?"  
  
When the punch hits him right in the jaw, he doesn’t go down, which surprises him more than the punch itself.  
  
"Do. Not. Push. Me. Sam." Dean cuts out each word precise and to the point. The point clearly being that if Sam keeps up his snide, pissy-bitch crap that Dean will lay him out and possibly fuck his out-cold body right after. So, he just rubs his jaw and glares.  
  
Dean just lets the glare roll off him like water as he rubs fingers over the knuckles of the fist he hit him with and stares Sam down, jaw ticking. "No, asshole. This is me we are talking about here. I've tried, I've gone out every damn night for the last seven goddamn nights, Sammy. And every freaking time man - every time - I find a girl; nice tits, good body and she's fucking eager dude. She wants me so bad I can smell it. So I get her pushed up a wall, over a table, in a dirty alley or in my fucking car and you know what happens?"  
  
Sam shakes his head and prides himself for keeping any snide comments from spilling from his lips. Mostly because he's pushed his limit on testing Dean, but more than anything he just wants the story of Dean's conquests over and done with. What they had has been over for almost six months now, but Sam can’t hack hearing about it any more now than he could back when it was still going on.  
  
"I get her wet, I get her moaning and I'm hard dude, I am. My dick and I were revved and ready to fucking rumble and I push in and I pump, pump, pump and then it just happens."  
  
"What just happens?" Sam asks him, confused to what the problem is or where Dean is going with this. But he swears that if this is all just a ploy to get him pissed and ready to fight so Dean can get them fucking faster? Sam will _kill_ him.  
  
Dean makes a frustrated noise, face scrunching up as one of his hands lowers and waves around his dick.  
  
"Dude, what? You smell? You have an itch? A rash? What the hell?"  
  
"NO! Fuck you Sam! Jesus! Just..." Dean gestures harder swinging his hand faster and then he sort of makes a noise like a balloon deflating.   
  
OH! Oh. "Oh."  
  
"YEAH! Oh. That's it? Oh? I mean it's my cock Sammy. And my game is totally shot and that's all you got? Oh?"  
  
Sam blinks at his brother and shrugs because really, what is he supposed to say to Dean's performance issues? Buy Viagra today? No, he thinks that would just earn him another punch to the jaw. So he settles for..."Oh, I'm sorry?"  
  
It's quick and Dean is in his face again shoving him back against his desk and then pushing him halfway on top of it. Pencils, notebooks, textbooks and his new phone all dig into his ass and the momentary thought that he hopes that his ass won't cause smudge marks on his notes passes through his mind.   
  
Dean's eyes are blown. His pupils are barely there; just a ring of fire laden with lust and anger-green. That's all there is left. And then he's spitting words, low and growly, and Sam has to strain his ears to hear them.   
  
"You’re sorry? Fuck you, fuck you, Sam I swear to god. You’re sorry? Yeah, well, you should be. It's your fault. It's your fucking fault every time this happens. Every time I can't screw a girl it's cause of you. Cause I think about you. Cause I think how fucking tight you are and how much better you feel than any of them. How none of them, _none_ of them compare to the shit I feel when I'm with you, _in_ you and I just go _soft_ just it fuckin' wilts dude and I'm done. Nothing fucking _helps_ to bring it back."  
  
Sam opens his mouth to say something. Defend himself. Try to steer the blame toward something other than himself. This is Dean's psychosis and Sam doesn't really understand why he has to settle and just take it up the ass because Dean goes a little too gay sometimes and being with a girl just doesn't tip him over like he needs to.  
  
But Dean shakes him by the shirt and Sam is back to the now and out of his thoughts looking at Dean while Dean tries to burn holes through him with mere will alone. "It's you, Sammy. This fucking problem is all you. So don't even try to steer it away or make it something else or pretend you don't fucking know. Just because your pretty boy ass can up and go and not need _this_ like you used to doesn't mean _I_ should fall in line, got me? I need this, and I need you. I need to be in you. I want your ass wrapped around my dick and I want you to goddamn strangle it if it makes you happy. But I need to be fucking you so you’re going to let me."  
  
"What if I don't? What if I say no?" Sam asks because his iron-clad faith in his brother when it comes to protecting him and never hurting him is impenetrable, but Sam was always taught that you covered your ass and always, _always_ asked what if when things looked like they were going hairy.  
  
Dean gives him a look then. It is a look of utter certainty, as if Dean knows he will win with the next thing he says. Simple because he has the winning hand, all his chips are in and all he has to do is show Sam the winning card. "Because, Sammy..." He grips Sam's hand and slips it under the waistband of his jeans, and Dean's eyes roll back when Sam's fingers touch his cock. "Cause little bro' you made me this way. You made me want this. You started it. Least you can do is help me out with it. _Come on._ "  
  
And there it is - game, jackpot to Dean. Sam yanks his hand out of Dean's pants and before Dean can start into another tirade about who fucked up whose mind way back when and who was having issues in the sack, Sam is lifting his shirt up and off and tossing it before going for his pants.  
  
The look Dean flashes him then is unmistakable and Sam's cock twitches. Because Sam might have gone six months without this and said it was over, but Sam has never been stupid enough to think it would ever be done between them for the rest of their lives. And Dean is still the center of his universe as far as his dick and heart are concerned and neither of those ever listens to his brain.  
  
"Fuck yeah, god yeah Sammy, baby, come on." Dean's fingers tuck under the waist of his jeans and slide them over his hips as Sam pushes up, letting Dean drag his pants down his legs to the floor.  
  
Then everything turns into a blur. Dean's pants somehow disappear when Sam is sure both of Dean's free hands are busy mapping his naked body out like a starving man and his own are gripping the desk for dear life just waiting for the wood to splinter and break off into shards sending tiny slivers of bark into his skin. Bringing his blood into the game. _Their blood_.  
  
Slick fingers are probing out around and then under, covered in slick, wet want, and Sam can’t remember Dean letting go long enough or going away at any point to grab some lube, or lotion or whatever the fuck is coating his brothers fingers as he pushes finally, _finally_ deep, deep and deeper. So deep Sam's body feels like molten Jell-O wanting nothing more than to just liquefy and give everything to his brother.   
  
Whatever Dean wants, Sam will give it up. Dean wants sex? He can have it. Sam’s body, too. His love…well he has that already, but Sam will tell him ‘til the day he dies - forever, forever and beyond if it makes Dean happy. Right now, Sam will offer himself on an altar of Dean’s desires as long as he just keeps pushing and sliding. "Fuck...Dean...I forgot...feels so…Jesus...oh shit...Dean...Dean..."  
  
"I know, Sammy, shit fuck I know baby just...let me please fuck Sam I gotta." Dean's voice seems broken over glass, vocal chords dragged through want, desire, fear, need, desperation, longing, sadness and love. Ghosting over his ear, his neck, his jaw and his mouth - bitten and kissed hard and Sam can only nod his assent because through this entire strange night, through all of Dean's words and ruffled determined attitude of not taking no for an answer, Dean still won't push that final button, cross that final line until Sam gives his ok.  
  
Some things have changed between them and they can't ignore that, but still most things stay the same. So Sam nods and Dean breathes out a near sob of thanks as his fingers slip one by one from Sam's pliant, open body. Dean pushes his thighs wider and Sam lets him. Dean presses himself tight and perfect between his legs and Sam swears he hasn't felt so secure in months.   
  
One of Dean's hands grips behind his neck and the fingers spread long enough to stroke the veins in his neck and then dip into hollows memorizing skin long missed and Sam's eyes are drifting, his body is floating, but then Dean bites into his lip again - not too hard, but hard enough - sucking the tiny droplets of blood that release from cracked skin and moaning softly at the taste. "Don't close your eyes, Sammy… want to see you. Need to see it, little bro'. Missed it so fuckin' much. The way you fuckin' look."  
  
And Sam forces his eyes to open to look into Dean's blown-out hazel gaze, to get lost in them. In a sea of green that Sam knows like the back of his own hand or his heart. Right into the core of Dean and Sam knows that place better than most. Better than all. Because Dean is Sam and Sam is Dean and they aren't either and then they are more than anything.   
  
Then the pressure comes, blunt and forceful yet gentle and pleading, and Sam can do nothing but let his lips fall apart and wheeze out a deep, growly hiss of pleasure because it’s Dean. Thick, wide and hard Dean. Dean whom he's missed. Dean whom he cherishes even though it seems like he may not. And Dean's eyes fuck his eyes, boring into him, into his soul, and Sam wants to cry but he can't. Not here, not now…can't show that weakness.  
  
But Dean already seems to know, voice barely there now and lost in a whirlwind of spinning feelings and emotions. "Shhh… Sammy I know, fuck god I know, just fuck fuck this talkin' jus' come on baby I got you." And Sam knows he does and lets himself fall apart because if there is one law that is always unbreakable, unmovable and as steady as anything, it's that Dean Winchester will never, ever let Sam Winchester fall away, get lost, get hurt, get anything that isn’t good and true.   
  
Because Dean doesn't know how to fail Sam. And Sam will never have to worry about knowing anything else. So he tightens his legs around Dean's hips, feet settling into dip above Dean's ass and Dean pumps with slow, slick slides that turn into hard, deep thrusts and the room fills with grunts, pants and shallow, whispered pleas and promises on sweat-soaked skin made for each other despite the undercurrents of the world’s eyes screaming sin, wrong, bad and unclean.  
  
None of that matters here. None of that has ever mattered. Just a need for this, for one another. This love, their love, defies everything and anything and they are never scared and never will be. Sam begs with eyes and lips and Dean presses back and further inside taking, claiming, possessing, giving, dying and Sam holds on praising, wishing, wanting, crying, dying because it's so good, too good and just what he's needed but doesn't know how to cope with, ask for, apologize for.  
  
Because he left, he abandoned Dean who is murmuring, moaning words of pleasure mixed with dirty sinful words laced in-between. Dean who is cradling him and urging him to come, to spill, to... "Come for me Sammy, come on baby squeeze me so tight fuck Sam god yeah Sam give it to me." Dean and his whispered oaths in his ear finally drive him over the cliff to come crashing, crashing back, arching body, jerking skin shivering with Dean following soon after - a cut off grunt with a heaved catch of breath that stutters and rattles his chest almost like a sob.  
  
Sam's desk is fucked, notebooks ripped and torn. Notes god only knows where. Probably bleeding ink onto his sweaty ass. Books dropped to the floor, spines bending and probably breaking. Pens, pencils and brand new phone jammed against his swaying, panting back. And all Sam cares about is holding Dean, whispering the oaths right back because he may have left but he never stopped. He never stopped with any of it. Feeling it, wanting it, needing it and missing it.   
  
Some lies are better told on the outside than they ever can be living on the inside. Inside they are recognized for the traitors they are and forever will be. "You gonna stay?" He asks his brother who is still clinging tight to his slippery skin with such ease.   
  
There's a pause - one second, two, three - and then a soft, grunted, "Yeah, that okay with you?"  
  
Sam nods and lays his cheek into Dean's hair, position burning, aching, but he ignores it. Comfortable, sated, happy and protected. Loved. "Yeah, Dean that's ok." And he can feel Dean smile into his chest and Sam forgets all about why he was ever upset Dean had come there to begin with.


End file.
